(I work at a large bookstore which is in the process of liquidation sales. One of the rules of this sale is that we don’t take any returns. There are huge signs all over the store that say, “Going out of business.”)

Customer: “I want to return this book, but I don’t have the receipt.”

Me: “I’m very sorry, ma’am, but we are no longer accepting returns since the store is closing.”

Customer: “What? You’ve always let me return books.”

Me: “I know, but we are closing now, so there are no returns.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! I’m taking my business elsewhere.”

Me: “That’s fine. We’re closing.”

Customer: “I mean it. I’ll never shop here again.”

Me: “Yes, I know. We’ll be closed.”

Customer: “I spend a lot of money here, and now I’m going to go buy my books online or something.”

Me: “Yes, you probably should. This store will be gone.”

Customer: “I’m leaving here and I’m never coming back. Do you hear me? Never!” *storms out*

(I work in a standard gas station: there are few healthy things and lots of unhealthy things. As it is summer, we sell a lot of ice cream products. A family of three approaches me register and the father places ice cream bars on the counter.)

Father: “Just these please.”

Me: “All right, was there anything else you needed?”

Mother: “No, thanks.”

Boy: “Mommy! Can I have this?”

(The boy, about four, proceeds to show her a container of sliced fruit that we have.)

Mother: “Nuh-uh, put that back. You’re not getting that.”

Boy: “But Mommy! It’s delicious! I’ll eat it!”

Mother: “Put that back now! You have to eat your ice cream bar first!”

(The boy continues to beg for the cup of fruit until he’s forced to leave the store with his ice cream bar.)

(I answer phones for a major appliance company. It’s Saturday.)

Customer: “My dishwasher’s broken!”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that! Would you like me to schedule a technician to come out for you?”

Customer: “No! [Company] already did that! They told me I have to wait till Monday! I can’t believe you people expect me to go two whole days without a dishwasher. This is inhumane! I can’t do this. I have four kids!”

Me: “Well, ma’am, it sounds to me like you have four dishwashers.”

Customer: “How dare you tell me how to raise my kids! I can’t believe the nerve of you people!”

Me: “Well, do you give them an allowance?”

Customer: “Yes, but I don’t see how that’s any of your business!”

Me: “Do they do chores to earn it?”

Customer: “My children don’t have to earn their way through life. They’re angels!”

(We sell a variety of different magazines. The very back row is where the smut magazines are kept. Note that I’m a 16-year-old girl and very uninterested in that sort of thing.)

Customer: “Do you know if you only sell Playboy magazines, or do you sell Playgirl magazines as well?”

Me: “I have no idea, ma’am. I don’t, uh, pay much attention to the back row.”

Customer: “Why? Do scantily clad girls offend you and your religion?”

Me: “No, ma’am. I’m actually not really religious. I’m just not into that sort of thing.”

Customer: “What do you mean you’re not religious? Don’t you know that Jesus died on the cross for your sins?”

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t want to get into a debate about religion. I just want to help you find what you’re looking for–”

Customer: “You’re a sinner! You sin and sell smut magazines!”

Me: *confused* “Ma’am, weren’t you looking for Playgirl magazines?”

(The customer turns beet red, storms out of the store, hops into her car, and drives away.)

(I’m working mall security when a hysterical woman comes up to me. She’s making no sense, but she keeps mentioning the word ‘quilt’.)

Customer: “Quick! Quick!”

Me: “Ma’am, please calm down and tell me what’s going on.”

(The customer finally composes herself enough to form coherent sentences.)

Customer: “There’s a man walking around in a quilt with nothing underneath it! You have to throw him out!”

(Thinking she means there’s a flasher in the mall, I follow her to the food court. The customer grows more hysterical as we approach. There is nobody matching her description.)

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t–”

(She angrily points at a man in Scottish attire quietly enjoying a coffee.)

Customer: “There he is! He’s scaring the children walking around like that!”

Me: “Ma’am, please stop shouting. There is nothing illegal about his way of dress and there certainly is no telling whether or not he’s wearing anything underneath.”

(At this point the man in question approaches us.)

Man: “I wish to lodge a complaint against this woman. She’s been following me around and trying to get a look at…well…” *gestures at his kilt*

Me: “Ma’am, is this true?”

(The woman turns bright red and starts fidgeting uncomfortably.)

Customer: “Well, I…but…what about the children?!” *storms off*

(I am helping a customer when a red-faced older man walks up and slaps the counter.)

Customer: “Why does [store] have illegals working here?! This is America!”

Me: “Sir, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. If you can just calm down–”

Customer: “Don’t you tell me to calm down! I fought for this country! I didn’t fight so that a bunch Mexicans could take over our country. You need to have someone here who speaks English in [department]!”

Me: “Sir, your language and comments are offensive to me, and I would like you to not speak to me again. I will be happy to get a manager for you, though.”

Customer: “F***ing Mexican lover!”

Customer, to his companion: “Let’s get out of here! Now!”

(I walk over to the department he was referencing. However, the only person there is a customer who just happens to be wearing something similar to our uniform. She smiles at me and says, in perfect English, “I really pissed him off, didn’t I?”)

(We sell, among other things, cards for a popular trading card game. A customer walks in, walks directly to the counter, and pulls a few cards out of his pocket.)

Customer: “I’d like to purchase these, please.”

Me: “I’m sorry, purchase? Don’t you mean sell?”

Customer: “Yeah, I didn’t have the money at the time. However, I didn’t want anybody else to get them, so I just left with them. I’d like to pay for them now, thanks.”

(I am working at an elementary school for gifted children. We have a horseshoe shaped parking lot where parents picked up their kids. At the end of the day it’s my job to stand at the exit of the one way and direct people 10 feet to my right to the correct entrance. A woman coming to pick up her child tries to enter the wrong way. I step in front of her car. She steps on the gas and gets close enough to hit my bright orange flag that says “stop”.)

Woman: “What the h*** are you doing? I need to pick up my daughter! Why aren’t you letting me pick up my daughter?”

Me: “Ma’am, this is a one way. You need to back out and go the correct way.”

Woman: “You’re kidnapping my daughter! I’m going to call the police! Let me in to see my daughter!”

Me: “Ma’am, I assure you, we are not keeping you from your daughter. All you need to do is back up and drive a few feet to the entrance. You are trying to go the wrong way down a one way.”

Woman: “Well, how am I supposed to know which way is the right way?”

Me: “Ma’am, even if I weren’t here to tell you, there’s a sign right behind me that says ‘Do Not Enter’.”

Woman: “Well, I shouldn’t be expected to read street signs!”